Thicker Than Blood
by Danimeister
Summary: Casey Dixon: Rough, tough, and the baby sister of the wild Dixon brothers. Ryan Rhee: Dedicated, optimistic, and desperate to find his brother, Glenn. These two clash as an unlikely pair in the zombie apocalypse as they struggle to survive ... and to love. [OC x OC] [OC's will eventually meet up with the main cast!]
1. Chapter One: Four Days

_**Hello everyone! Now, I recently joined the band wagon of watching The Walking Dead, and I can honestly say this ... WHY DIDN'T I START WATCHING IT SOONER? Anyways, the plot bunnies in my head have recently been tormenting me with some interesting ideas about both the Dixon and Rhee families, and I've since decided to grab at one particular idea and try to write it ... So we'll see how it goes! :)**_

_**Now, just some quick little notes. Yes, Glenn's last name has been noted to be Rhee in both interviews and on the many websites I checked for info. (Well dodging bullets of spoilers, might I add.) And yes, from the info I have gathered, Glenn's name is spelled with two n's. This is the information and spellings that I am going to use here on out. Also, this is going to be a OCxOC story, where both OC's will eventually meet up with Rick's group, so don't worry, the original cast of the show will be in this!**_

_**Thanks in advance for reading! **_

_**-D**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not, nor have, nor ever will own anything related to the label of The Walking Dead.**_

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_** Chapter One: Four Days**_

_Head up, just barely. Look up, over. Side to side. Head back down, eyes forward. Go, now!_

She took a big breath and held it, trapping it deep in her lungs to silence herself. She checked around the hood of the abandoned car one last time before she scuttled across the street, keeping her body low to the ground. She avoided patches of gravel and litter, and made sure to side step around the broken bottle that was close to her right foot. She could hear the groans and gurgled cries of the walking dead, but she forced herself to look straight a head, straight at the grey Ford van that she needed to make it to. If she worried herself with how many of them there were just in the immediate area, she would only miss keys in her surrounding, and would surely end up getting killed. She had to be quick, swift, but quiet. With fourteen staccato steps, she made it to the other side, and crouched behind the parked van, letting her breath out slowly and surely.

_Dammit, you can't keep goin' on like this! _

She closed her eyes momentarily, and leaned against the cool paint of the van. She had been going for two days straight, only stopping to chew at an expired granola bar or to crack open a can of peaches. Sleep had been pushed into the back of her mind as well-she had only gotten three hours across the two day span that she had been traveling the roads like some sort of criminal. Yes, she had been raised to fend for herself. Sure, she knew how to trap rabbits and make spears out of sticks. Hell, she even knew how to catch catfish with her own two hands. It was all helpful survival skills that she had been taught ... if she got lost out in the woods. None of her prior knowledge would help her survive in the middle of a town, and it was much less helpful in the middle of an apocalypse.

Only four days ago, Georgia had proclaimed a state of emergency, one of the last states to do so. People panicked, ransacked everything, gathered their belongings and tried to group together all of their loved ones. Most people fled to the areas of protection, the military proclaimed safe-zones that were located in Atlanta, Macon and Albany. Highways were backed up with lines of idling cars, and getting out of the city became impossible. It was also four days ago that the army began to bomb the larger cities, trying to wipe out the swarms of dead that wandered the streets. To no avail, however. The dead still wandered, and consumed what they could of the living. A measly four days and most of the state had been turned into ... zombies.

It was also four days since she had last heard from her family. It had been four days since she had thrown clothes, food, knives and water bottles into her large cargo bag, had strapped it to her back, and had left her apartment for good to find them. It had been that long since she had any contact with any ... living being. She had forced herself to go to the streets, to make her way through the town and attempt to find those who she may know. She had promised to give herself a week. A week to find those who she loved and who loved her. Seven days would be enough time for her older brothers to come back from their hunting trip ... or wherever they had ended up this time. A week and she would flee to the forests and live off the land, just as her elder brothers had taught her to. Hopefully she would find them before that.

It had been four days. She had three days left.

She opened her eyes once again, focusing back on the reality that faced her. Her face remained against the cool surface of the vehicle as she brushed her muddy brown hair back behind her ears and out of her eyes. Her lips began to move, a whisper of a breath sounding from her lips.

"Daryl, Merle ... you two better be safe."

And with that, the youngest Dixon, Casey Marie, pushed herself back up on the balls of her feet and began to slink towards the back bumper of the van, planning her next move. She could obviously continue on forward, continuing to hide behind and under cars to avoid the odd undead that continued to amble around her. Or, finding a nice place to stay for the night was also creeping up in her mind, as the hazy yellow of the setting sun coated everything in a lemony daze. Her shaky legs told her to find a place to rest, to rest her weary head, but the logical-or maybe illogical-side of her mind told her to continue onward, that somehow, possibly, she would be able to survive for longer if she were to continue on in the dark.

She shifted on her feet, chanting in her head what she usually did before she jumped from car to car. _Head up, just barely. Look up, over. Side to-_

The ringing sound of a gun shot blasted through the air, and Casey ducked back behind the van's back bumper. Hands to the ground, her eyes just barely peering out from behind the metal, Casey mentally cussed whoever had done that. It would only bring the attention of the dead to full alert, making it even harder to sneak around them and past them. There was a reason Casey hadn't went and ransacked some guns and ammo-it would only draw more unneeded attention to her.

The closest one, the only one who hadn't wandered away by now, was a stumbling man with dusty black hair. He twisted his head in the direction of where the shot had come from, due North, not even a block away. A mixture of coppery blood and what looked like thick drool fell from his mouth, dribbling down his dirty, rotting chin. He groaned and went to turn, his foot twisting at an odd angle as he did, and she could hear the crack of his bones as he did. That didn't seem to stop him as he staggered drunkenly past where Casey was hiding, groaning and moaning his way along. Casey took the general misfortune as an opportunity; she slunk away only seconds behind him, quickly making her way to the next car that was parked a good twenty feet up the street, hoping that she would be able to make it before anything else spot her. As she went, Casey kept her eye on the dead that had, before, been so close to her.

She only made it half way to the car before another shot rang out, and the dead she had been watching jerked back before he fell to the ground, blood seeping from his head.

Casey froze, eyes scanning ahead, hand reaching back towards the back belt loop on her jeans, were she had been keeping a steak knife handy in case there was trouble. Her upper lip curled in anger in response. She remained motionless; there was no point in running, he already knew she was there. Casey only remained there, crouched and ready, waiting for the arrival of the gun-wielding moron.

He appeared around a car, a single handheld, a Beretta, she assumed, in his hands, pointed wildly and haphazardly in front of him, eyes wide and spooked. The second he laid eyes on her, he pointed it towards her, the barrel obscuring her view of most of his face. All she could see was a mop of think, inky black hair, a dirty tee-shirt, and shaky knees that were covered by jeans.

"A-are you bit?" he yelled as he continued to approach her.

Casey had to resist the urge to run up to him and slap him. Why was this idiot so loud? She only glared at him.

He waved his gun around again. "Are you bit? Are you hurt?" His voice seemed genuinely concerned.

"I'll be better if you shut the hell up, dumb ass." Casey stood straight and swallowed hard; she hadn't had a good drink of water in a day or so, and her voice was scratchy and rough. "They're attracted to noise."

He was in front of her now, only a good couple feet away. His gun was being lowered to his hip as he got the confirmation he needed just by hearing her annoyed reply. Casey got a better look at him now; he was of obvious Asian descent, dark eyes that glimmered in the setting sun that matched the color of his mop of hair. His toned face was smudged with dirt and a bit of blood that lined his left cheek bone. His lips began moving once more, and Casey had to struggle to keep up to his motoring story.

"Sorry if I scared you there, but you scared the shit out of me. I haven't seen anybody around here since this all started and when I saw you darting in between the cars I wasn't sure if you were bit or just plain hurt and trying to hide from them. Y'know, most people will just run around blasting their guns and killing them all, but I haven't seen you kill one since you got here. That's why I started getting 'em; that last one was awfully close to you."

Casey's glare intensified, and her dusty brown eyebrow twitched. "How long have you been watching me? I 'ad everything under control, stupid."

"About an hour. From where I was, I could see down the entire street," he replied, his face softening. This guy was such a pansy. "I just ... I wanted to try and help you-"

"It ain't safe out here," Casey muttered, not letting him finish. She didn't care what this guy said or did. The sun was falling back behind the horizon, and Casey knew she only had about half an hour before their entire world would be encased in a blackened night. She would be prime pickings for a zombie platter. Her grip on her steak knife tightened as she brought it around from her back, giving him a good view of it as she clutched it in her battered hand. "If you really wanna help me, you'll take me to where you were."

He looked left, right, then back left again. Checking if there were others with her, Casey noticed, mildly impressed. Maybe he wasn't so damn dumb after all. Then, to her surprise, he nodded. He began galloping down the street, motioning her his way with a flick of his head. Casey had to struggle to catch up to him, jogging down the now empty street with him, still dodging anything that would make noise by instinct. This guy had long friggin' legs and was a hell of a lot taller than her, much to her chagrin.

"My name's Ryan," he offered, a small smile twitching on his lips.

"Shut up and keep going," Casey huffed with a quick roll of her eyes. There was no time for pleasantries in the apocalypse.


	2. Chapter Two: Nightfall

_**Thanks to everyone who left a favorite and followed this story! It means a great deal to me to know that you are enjoying it so far! Please, feel free to leave reviews as well! :) I also want to take the time to thank my first reviewer! Thank you for your kind words! **_

_**Thanks for reading!**_

_**-D**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not, nor have, nor ever will own anything related to the label of The Walking Dead.**_

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_**Chapter Two: Nightfall**_

Ryan's hideout was nothing to be truly impressed about, but it would provide some much needed shelter for the night. He had managed to hole up in a house that was perched on the end of the street, one that Casey could vaguely remember had been owned by an older married couple. The exterior paint was chipping in many places, and as they made their way up the front stairs, she could smelt a musky smell that had to be mold. The house was general; it was large, at least two levels, with lots of wide windows circling the upper level. That explained how he had been able to spy on her without having to leave his hideaway. He had barricaded the lower level windows with pieces of furniture that had once occupied the main space, and, from what he had explained, had set up a pile of blankets in the middle of the room for a makeshift bed.

He allowed her in first. Candles were strewn in patches along the wooden floors, most of them lit and flickering, and a small pile of cans and bottles remained half-hidden in the corner, a blanket carelessly thrown on top of them. As he had said, his mound of blankets was smack in the middle of the floor. She took another once over, and sauntered over to his rations. As she flung her pack on to the ground, she could hear him locking the dead bolt to the front door once again, and she heard the unfamiliar scratching of furniture being drug across hardwood. Casey began unzipping her grey-green backpack as he began talking once more, her hands emptying the small amounts of food that she had left in there.

"We should be safe in here for the night. I have been for the past three so ... Shouldn't be much different. There's not much activity at night, just a few walkers that creep along the windows," he explained.

Casey froze with two granola bars in her hands just so she could give him a strange look. "What did you just call them?"

"Uh, walkers. Y'know, cause they still walk and stuff, but they aren't very fast."

She nodded, taking the term and trying it on her own tongue. "Walkers. Huh. That's a good name for 'em."

Ryan gave her a smile, but she didn't return it; she just continued to count her supplies. The steak knife she had banished back to her belt loop and the meat cleaver that remained at the bottom of her bag were the only two weapons she had left in good condition-her other knife, a hunting knife given to her by Daryl on her fourteenth birthday, was smothered with zombie guts and she hadn't yet found a stream or water source to wash it off in. A can opener, half-broken from the last use. Three shirts-two tee's and a long sleeved-and a singular pair of spare pants, black sweats. Another bra, two pairs of underwear jammed, last minute, in a side pocket. A folded picture of her with her two brothers, Merle and Daryl, both of which were not smiling at the camera, but had their arms around her shoulders. Now, for the important stuff ... Two cans of peaches left, only three granola bars ... no water. It was starting to look grim.

"You ... never told me your name," Ryan said, walking over to his pile of discarded blankets. He placed his gun beside the only, half-stained pillow and flopped on to his nest of a bed. He must have noticed her eyeing up his stash, which was considerably bigger than hers, because he then quickly added on, "Oh, and you're welcome to anything you need."

Casey looked up at him, giving him a frown of disbelief. "You really are stupid, aren't you?" she asked, shifting to kneel in front of her bag. "If you were to give me everything I needed, I'd be pickin' you clean out. Hell, if I were smart, I'd pull my knife on you an' end it all. Take over your little ..." She motioned around the room. "... establishment."

"But you won't," Ryan finished.

"What?" She tossed her measly supply of food back into her bag, tucking it under the couple of shirts.

"You wouldn't do it," he repeated.

"And why do you think that?" She made sure to give him the nastiest smile she could manage without feeling bad. He had a baby face; it was soft and always alight with some sort of ... ease. She felt bad when she made him frown or look down towards the ground in shame. But in the same breath, she felt the need to make him back pedal; he was getting on her nerves with all his damn assumptions that just happened to be right.

"'Cause I'm the first person you've seen too," Ryan answered. When Casey's shoulders hitched with the breath that caught in her lungs, he continued. "See? I knew it. You've been alone since the start too, haven't you?"

"Lucky guess," Casey spat out, lips pursing to the side. But he was right; she wouldn't, or more, she couldn't, just pull her knife on him and end it all. A strange feeling in her gut just wouldn't ease up if she even thought about it for a split second. He had been so kind right off the bat, to invite her in and practically give her all of his supplies. And that face ... it was ... little boy-ish. He literally looked like he had the face of a little kid, so thin and innocent looking. And scar free; it made Casey a tad self-conscious of the teeny scar that ran vertically along the inner edge of her left eyebrow.

Casey blamed the Asian's innocent baby face for everything.

"And besides," he started, "I have a gun. I could out do you any day in a fight." He laughed, his head tipping back as the noise escaped his mouth.

"You could barely aim the damn thing," Casey retorted.

Ryan frowned, although it was a playful glare he sent her way. "Remind me next time not to send a bullet through a walker's brain to help you out."

"I didn't ask for your help, dumb ass!"

This only caused him to start laughing once again, and it took him a little longer to quell the chuckles. Once he did, his gaze turned sharper. He was getting serious again. "Well, let's just get through the night, alright? Until then, my home is yours. If you're hungry, go ahead and eat something," Ryan said.

He didn't even manage to get the words "go ahead" out past his chapped lips before Casey was grasping at the nearest, full water bottle from the pile and began fumbling with the lid. She resorted to prying it off with her teeth, even after Ryan reached out for it to help her, and she jammed the plastic mouth of the bottle into her mouth, tipping her head back. It wasn't cool-in fact, the water was disgustingly warm from sitting in the sun all day-but the moisture quenched the achy feeling that had tickled the back of her throat. Water dribbled down her chin and on to the front of her olive colored shirt, but she didn't care. She downed the rest of the bottle before she managed to take a startled, gasping breath.

"Thirsty?" he teased.

She managed a nod before gasping for another breath of air. Casey struggled to breath, trying to catch her breath as she looked at him, eyes locking. A deep blue color, something close to azure, met with his dark. Something flashed behind his eyes-triumph? Happiness?-before they returned to their glossy, half-lidded ease.

"Casey," she stated. She took another breath before she tried again. "Casey Dixon."

"It's nice to meet you, Casey," Ryan responded, shifting his weight so he could extend an offered hand in her direction.

Casey clasped his hand in hers, giving it a firm shake. "You too."

Silence fell upon the two as they sat, across from each other, watching as the shadows ebbed along the walls, shrinking and growing with the flickering lights that the candles gave off. After a few moments, Ryan reached under the decrepit pillow and yanked out a can open, waggling it in his hands with a pull of his wrist. Casey leaned back, grasping two cans off of the top of the pile, and passed them across the space between both of them. Ryan cracked open both cans after a minute or two of twisting his can opener around on the tops, and handed one back to her. Neither of them waited or even wondered about utensils; Casey used her index finger to fish the pears out of the can, and her thumb and middle finger to pinch the fruit until she could plop it into her awaiting mouth.

"Hey. Do you ... do you have anyone here? Y'know, anyone you wanna ... try to find?"

The sudden question almost made Casey choke on a piece of pear. She finished chewing with a large amount of gusto before she swallowed and turned to give him a glare with cold blue eyes. "What's it to you?"

Ryan's eyes shifted to the floor. He lowered his can so that it would sit in his lap, right between his thighs. "I was thinking of leaving town soon ... and I was wondering if there was anyone you wanted to try to check on before ... maybe we left together."

"Who said I was leavin' with you?!" Casey exploded, angry with the heat of the moment. Her somewhat flawed plan floated around in her head-she was going to live off the land, survive in the wild! There was no way some sissy, pretty boy like him would be able to survive in the woods for more than an hour, and there was no way she was going to live in the city. That was just asking for trouble! Not only that, but she still had another two days. Another two days to wait around for Daryl and Merle and then leave with them when they came. There was no way she was leaving family behind.

"Hey, it was just a suggestion!" Ryan rebuffed, throwing his hands up in the air in a mock surrender. "No need to jump down my throat. Besides, you gotta keep your voice down. Walkers."

She took a breath, trying to calm herself down. Casey plucked another pear out of the can and chomped down on it, hard. "Sorry," she mumbled. It took her a couple seconds of internal conflict, but she figured after she had yelled at him like that, she might as well throw him a bone so he could maybe at least understand a little. Or maybe he could at least _try _to understand where she was coming from. The words started out slow, but became more fluid as she went. "I ... my brothers. I was waitin' for my brothers. I was gonna wait for 'em to come back an' my plan was for all of us to leave together and live off the land ... Y'know, go all 'forest people.' It sounded like it would have been an easier route then tryin' to live in the city with all these dead bastards. Not to mention living in a city could get dangerous with other hostile groups. People go bat-shit crazy when things like this happen."

To her utter surprise, Ryan said nothing about how she had finally offered a piece of information about herself to him. No teasing, no taunting, nothing. As he chewed, he nodded, showing that he at least understood the words that were coming out of her mouth. "Where'd your brothers go?" he asked. "We could ... I mean, I could help you look for them."

"They went up north, on some sort of all boys huntin' trip ... hence why I'm not with 'em right now. We always go huntin', the three of us ... but this time it was different. I was hopin' they were gonna come back down here, maybe to grab some supplies or something ... but that hasn't happened yet," she finished, her voice falling to a softer register on the last five words.

Ryan's shadow-like eyes found hers, and Casey saw something in them she hadn't seen in anyone's eyes in a long time ... sympathy. As Ryan spoke, Casey felt herself, subconsciously, leaning forward. "My brother ... Glenn ... he used to live in Atlanta ... I haven't heard from him since this all started. I'm just ... I'm hoping he got out."

Casey's eyes closed, and she forced herself to take another breath. She wasn't going to offer him up false flickers of hope, just as he hadn't with her. She only took another long, lasting breath before she opened her eyes, making sure she caught Ryan's gaze.

"You help me, I help you?" Ryan mumbled, inky eyes unwavering.

That sent her mind wheeling. She had her plan, the plan that was going to keep her alive! Live with her brothers, all three of them taking refuge in a place they all knew well, the wilderness. They would catch jack rabbits and cook up venison on an open fire ... kill stray walkers with a flick of their wrists if they needed to. She didn't need the city, she didn't need anyone to help her get this plan rolling ... especially _him_. But, a feeling of abandonment washed over her suddenly when she made the mistake of continuing to look into Ryan's deep brown eyes. Daryl and Merle, if they were even still alive, were miles away, way up north. They wouldn't come back for her, it would be way too out of their way this early. They would have to find shelter, to establish themselves first before they would even step foot down here ... It was hopeless to think of anything different. She was stuck alone.

"Well?" Ryan whispered.

One, single nod. That was all he was gonna get.


	3. Chapter Three: Promises

_**Here we are! The third chapter already! :) My, does time fly by! That and I get bored when I'm off of work for an extended amount of time ...  
**_

_**Thanks to all of you who followed, left a review and left a favorite! It's appreciated! :) Please, continue to review, follow and favorite to let me know how you're liking the story so far!**_

_**Happy reading!**_

_**-D**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not, nor have, nor ever will own anything related to the label of The Walking Dead.**_

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**_Chapter Three: Promises_**

"Get up."

The mumble that emerged from the mound of blankets was enough to get the start of a frown forming on her face. So it begins, the struggles of having to deal with ... him.

"C'mon, sleepin' beauty. Get up, we're movin' on today." This time, Casey made sure to add a soft kick to the bottom of the pile, hopefully hitting a shoe or a shin.

A startling amount of incoherent babbling gurgled from under the blankets, and this time she got some movement. An arm popped out, followed by the start of his shaggy black hair.

For a survivor of a zombie apocalypse, he sure was taking his damn sweet time. "Don't make me rip the covers off," she warned. "You've got three seconds. Three ... two ..."

"I'm up, I'm up. Okay, I'm-UGH!" Ryan bolted upright as Casey ripped the heavy patterned quilt off of him, exposing him to the cool morning air and the bright yellow light that was streaming in from the cracks in the barricaded windows. When he turned to glare at her, all he got in return was a mischievous grin, a trademark of the eldest Dixon that she had picked up back in her early teens.

"I told you, three seconds," she replied.

"That was two! Where'd you learn to count? ... Ugh ... what time is it, anyways?" Ryan asked, yawning at the end of his sentence. He started to rub at his sleep-filled eyes as Casey wandered back over to the stash of rations, which she had been stuffing into her bag moments before she had decided to was time for her new survival partner to get up.

The night had been uneventful; after the rest of their cans of pears, Ryan tried to make small talk with her, asking her about hobbies and things that she used to do back when the world was ... normal. After he realized all he was going to get was vague or one word answers, he finally gave up, and began just telling stories about his family and himself. She unwillingly learned he not only had a brother, but three sisters and his mother as well, who were still back in Michigan. She was also told, among a bramble of other stories and tangents, that he and Glenn were only a year and a half apart, Glenn being the younger of the two. Once she had finally gotten him to shut his mouth, Casey turned in early. She ended up curling up in the corner opposite of the rations of food that they had left, swarmed up in a blanket that had been stolen from Ryan's blanket pile. After only a bit of tossing and turning, she had managed to find a comfortable position upright, and with her head lolling to the side as she fell asleep. She ended up waking up even before dawn, a navy darkness still creeping in the corners of the room, and without Ryan's consent, had decided that it was best for them to move out, to continue to try and make their way through the town. She had began packing up what rations she could into her bag, only being assisted by the new day's light that was bathing the earth in yellow.

"By the looks of it ... probably five. Six in the mornin' if you're lucky," she responded, grabbing a can of beans and shoving it into her bag.

Ryan looked at her. "You're kidding me," he said in a deadpan tone.

"Nope," she answered, turning her head so he would catch a sideways look. "If you wanna travel in Georgia, your best bet is in the early mornin' and early evenin'. It's way too hot otherwise; you'll die of dehydration."

"You couldn't have let me sleep?" Ryan groaned, rolling his neck from side to side as he started to get up.

"You were the one that wanted to help me," Casey muttered. "Now I'm helping you by tellin' you how not to get heat stroke."

"Yeah, I suppose ..." Ryan allowed as he started for an open doorway on the left side of the room. He turned, placing a hand on the peeling paint of the wall. "I'm just gonna get the rest of my stuff ... I'm assuming you've already decided that we're leaving for good?"

"Yep."

"Thought so." And with that, he disappeared from the room, and Casey could faintly hear him clomping up a set of wooden stairs. A small smile played at her lips; at least he was pretty laid back. He didn't even have a hissy fit when she proclaimed that they were going to leave his beloved hideout. Maybe this was going to be easier than she had originally expected.

Or maybe he was just smart enough not to challenge a Dixon.

Either or, Casey supposed, shrugging her shoulders before she returned to the rations once again. She grasped another can of vegetables, shoving them into the expanded fabric of her pack, and as she heard a teeny rip as she forced the can into place, she decided that the can was the limit. They wouldn't be able to take anymore, and the eight cans and five water bottles was all her large cargo pack was going to be able to hold without exploding on itself. She struggled with the zipper, yanking and jerking it into place with great difficulty. Even so, large clumps that resembled cans jutted out, stretching at the fabric, in certain places. Casey shouldered her back pack on both shoulders before she shifted her weight to grasp at her hunting knife. She had made sure to leave it out so that as soon as she found a water source she could wash it off. Until then, she would just have to wield it covered in zombie guts, blackened and crusted over.

Ryan stomped down the stairs once again, appearing from around the corner with a hiking back pack bouncing against his back. His handgun was tucked into his waist band, the butt sticking out along his hip. "Ready?" he asked.

"Says the guy who didn't wanna get up," Casey muttered. Then, louder, "Yeah. Wanna grab the blankets or scavenge on the way?"

Ryan looked longingly at his make-shift bed. "But I don't have enough room." He looked at her with excitement and anticipation.

"Well let's go." Casey ignored the obviously pleading look.

"But I loved that quilt," Ryan whined lowly.

After a quick roll of her azure eyes, Casey wandered over to the door, glancing up and down at the empty, false-wood china cabinet that was blocking the door, providing protection for them only hours before. She anchored herself on the other side of it, pressing her shoulder against the freezing surface with a shudder. Casey locked her jaw, took a deep breath, and with leverage from both her own body weight and her powerful legs, she shoved the cabinet out of the way. The scraping of the piece of furniture was enough to make her wince. How loud had that actually been?

She turned back to Ryan, raising an eyebrow. He nodded his approval, and that was when she reached for the dead bolt, twisting it to the left to unlock the front door. She clutched the brass knob in her left hand, and with her right, readied her knife, the blade pointing down, handling it extremely close to her face. Casey heard the creaking of the wooden floor behind her, and she knew Ryan was already tailing behind her, probably only inches behind her. With one last breath, she twisted the knob, and inched the door open, squeak by squeak. When she couldn't see that anything had ambushed the porch, she opened it wider, taking a step through it, Ryan straight behind her. There was nothing within a few feet of the house, and nothing along the sidewalk that circled around the front yard. Her eyes shifted as she glanced farther up the street, beyond their immediate surroundings.

Her heart skipped a beat, and her mouth went dry.

"Oh, _fuck_ me," Ryan whispered. He obviously saw it too.

Walkers. _Everywhere. _The street was practically swarming with them. There had to be at least twenty ... no, thirty of them. The stench of the rotting dead hit her suddenly, causing bile to lap at her throat and her stomach to flip and flop. Casey didn't know how or why or when, but all she could see for blocks was staggering, twitching bodies dragging themselves along. They ambled among the cars she had hidden behind yesterday, they clustered in yards, and idled in the middle of the roadway. All of them were bloodied, some of them missing arms or parts of rotting shoulders. One of the closest ones had a giant chunk out of his side, and Casey was pretty sure she could see some of his half-eaten intestines.

But that didn't matter. What did matter, was that they wouldn't survive this.

There was too many of them.

They'd be eaten alive.

"Case-" Ryan started, panicked.

He didn't even get her name out before she was twisting back, shoving him back into the house with jerky movements. "Go, go!" she hissed.

They stumbled back into the house together, Ryan clasping at her elbow to keep himself upright as he tripped over himself. Her hand clasped for the doorknob once more, pulling the door shut behind them. Casey kept her back plastered against the door the second it was closed, pushing herself against it. It just to make sure that if the dead had heard them, at least her weight would give them a fighting chance to get away.

"You said there was never that many of 'em!" Casey growled, keeping her voice low even though her irritated mind wanted her to scream. Anything to keep the walkers away.

Ryan was only inches away from her, hand still clutching on to her elbow, hard. His warm breath flashed against her face when he spoke. "There never was! It was always one or two ... what the hell happened?"

"How am I supposed to know?" she retorted. "There's a whole army of 'em, goddammit!"

"I know, I know!"

"What in the hell are we gonna do!?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, think, dumb ass!"

Ryan closed his inky-shaded eyes. "Well, the front door is obviously not an option anymore. There _is_ a back door that leads to the back yard that's in the kitchen ... but ..."

"But?" Casey asked, a spark of hope fluttering in her chest, causing a flush of heat from her neck.

"It backs on to a forest of some kind. I'm thinking city limits or something ... there could be trees and forest for miles. We could be wandering for days before we would hit another town or an interstate or something," Ryan elaborated.

The spark turned into an open flame as an excited grin crept across her face. Her eyebrows arched, and her eyes became alight with exuberance. She couldn't believe her luck; maybe her original plan would be useful for something! Although she had originally wanted to wait around to see if her brothers were going to show up, that wasn't going to be a viable option anymore. She had to just roll with the punches that the situation was flinging her way."_Perfect_," she crowned.

"'Perfect?' Are you kidding me? That's-" Ryan cut off when Casey gave him a dumbfounded look that was bred with annoyance.

"Will you just ... trust me?" Casey asked, waving her hunting knife around as if she were asking permission with it.

Worry flashed in his eyes as he stared into hers, mouth twitching nervously with an impending frown. He really looked like a worried little kid that was about to be abandoned by an angry parent. Casey couldn't bring herself to completely ignore the heart wrenching expression he wore. "Promise me something."

A smash against the front door that was against her back caused both of them to jump. As Casey craned her head, she could hear muffled groans and choking gurgles. That was enough to send her body into survival mode once more; she jammed herself against the door, praying that maybe it had just been her imagination. Her heels dug in deep, sliding on the varnished wooden floor. Another clump that resonated against her shoulder blades caused her to look at him with alarm. They had been found.

"C'mon, let's get goin'," Casey urged. She was still riding the high that had been shocked through her veins when he had mentioned that their escape route played to her strengths. "It ain't gonna be long before they're gonna figure out how to bust down this damn door!"

"Promise me, Casey," Ryan repeated. His eyes didn't waver, and a sudden, haunting gaze was cast down on her. It swam in his eyes, motionless but truly moving in all the same. It was the gaze of a man who had not once been abandoned, who had always put his complete trust in everyone he met. It was the glance of a man who had not known the hardships of life that Casey Dixon had faced, but in the same, felt everything she had ever felt at that moment. It was a gaze of true fear and of complete, willing trust.

"What?!" Casey asked, practically exasperated. She forced herself to break away from his glance so that she wouldn't go soft on him. She was both rattled by his stare and by the walkers that continued to blast against her back, and responded the only, logical way she knew how ... by yelling at him in annoyance. A true Dixon trait.

"Promise me you won't leave me. That you won't leave me to get eaten by those things."

She stared back at him with wide, sky blue eyes. Her willpower to try and ignore his vulnerability vanished into thin air. Even though the bangs and aggravated yells of the zombies were getting louder, she couldn't help but freeze in that moment. Her entire body just ... shut down. It stopped responding to her every demand that it move. She couldn't help but feel a prickle behind her eyes, and she couldn't help but to swallow down the words that tried to escape her lips. Someone _needed_ her. It was at that moment, in an abandoned house in the middle of the ending of the world, that Casey felt something she hadn't felt in a long time ... the feeling of being wanted, of being needed by someone who wasn't her brother. Being needed by someone who _wasn't blood_. It had been ... years since the achy feeling had throbbed through her heart. It was also at that moment that Casey realized he hadn't let go of her elbow; his fingers were digging in hard enough to leave bruises in her skin.

"Don't you _dare _leave me, alright?" Ryan tried again, this time glancing away from her to avoid her stare. He was trying a harder, more tough-love approach, probably trying to get some sort of reaction from her. "If you leave me ... I'll ... I'll ..."

It took her a few seconds to calm herself down, to calm her breathing and to bring herself back to reality. She had to get herself-no, she had to get them both out of there. Out of danger, and into safety. But when she finally managed to calm her frantic thoughts, she made sure she had a Merle-worthy grin plastered on her face and her voice was gruff and raspy, coating the emotion that had before wracked through her body. "I ain't gonna leave you, dumb ass. Who else is gonna be 'round to call you dumb ass?"

Strangled relief twitched on his face. Casey only took it in for a moment before she glanced beyond him. The pounding against her back was becoming more frequent, and harder to push back against. Around them, she could also hear that they were trying to get at the windows; fists and claws against glass sounded much different that angry force against a heavy door.

She took no more time deciding her next move; she made sure that she clasped her free hand around his wrist, her hunting knife positioned in front of her face once more before she booked it away from the door. She dragged Ryan along behind her, blasting through the living room, to the right, into the once homey kitchen with dirty white tile. In front of her, escape! The door hadn't been boarded up, so it only took Ryan a few moments to struggle getting that dead bolt unlocked and the door knob turning in his hands.

The stagnant air hit them hard, and after a second, Casey sped for the first step. She only got half way to it before clammy hands grasped at her left arm. A shocked gasp escaped her mouth as she twisted, desperately trying to rip her arm out of the clasp of the walker. Angry moans echoed to her ears, blood streaming from the walker's forehead from an infected gash above his wheeling, dead eyes. The lower jaw hung wide, teeth jagged and blackened with rotting flesh, aching to get at her and devour her. She swung her right hand desperately, and Casey couldn't help but flinch when the serrated blade of her hunting knife went through his eye, stabbing straight through to the brain. A couple of agonized jabbers and it was dead, Ryan quickly shoving it away from her with a quick burst of speed from her right hand side. He clasped at her shoulder and desperately began pulling her down the creaky back steps.

If there was one, there'd be more. Casey's pulse pounded in her ears.

"Th-the gate!" Ryan panted as both of them frantically powered across the yellowing grass, to the back of the property where a white fence was lined and shaded with trees.

Ryan got there first from the help of his lanky legs, yanking and pulling at the gate until it broke open, swinging and shrieking in protest as it did. Then, he snapped back for her, reaching out for her hand. Panic flickered in his eyes.

His hand was warm and sweaty as she clasped it. Casey tried glancing back to look at the house for only a second, but Ryan wouldn't let up, his lengthened strides causing her to stumble and stagger. It took her a couple seconds to catch up and regain her footing, but when she did, with their hands still linked, she bolted for the shade and dead wall of the forest, her legs propelling her forward.

Casey knew they wouldn't stop running for a long, long time.


	4. Chapter Four: Family Histories

_**Hello everyone! Here I am with the fourth chapter! I'm glad with how well this has turned out so far, so I hope I can continue to crank out the chapters! :) This one was a little harder to get out then the other ones; I really had to push myself through this back-story filled chapter!**_

_**There was one review that was sent in by the lovely green angel01 that was asking me about the ages of the characters ... that will be revealed in this chapter since I did actually leave out the ages by accident! Sorry about that! Also, I will be trying to use cannon ages, so I apologize if I get the age of anybody completely wrong, considering no one is really given an actual age in the show ... just an approximation. LOL**_

_**Thanks so much for the follows, and for leaving a favorite or a review! It really means a lot to me, and it let's me know how you all are enjoying the story so far! Please, don't be shy to leave a review and tell me what you think! I won't bite! ;)**_

_**Thanks for reading!**_

_**-D**_

_**Disclaimer: (Do I still have to do this? LOL) I do not, or have, nor ever will own anything related to the label of The Walking Dead. That all belongs to the rightful owners!**_

* * *

_**Chapter Four: Family Histories**_

Casey hadn't stopped running, her shoes crunching in the dead fall and leaves that smothered the ground beneath her. Her lungs were burning, her legs were aching and her knees felt like they were being stabbed by knives. The trees provided shade, but the scorching heat still laid still in the humid air, stifling her breaths as she forced herself to pull them in. They had been running for at least an hour, crouching under strangely shaped branches and leaping over fallen trees that were partly covered in fungus and moss. It felt like they were moving in slow motion to her, for she had been practically dragging Ryan along for the past ten minutes. Every once in a while, she or Ryan would glance backwards over their shoulder, silently praying that absolutely nothing would be behind them.

"Do ... d-do you think ... they're ... gone?" Ryan wheezed.

Casey allowed herself to slow a bit. She hadn't seen anything behind them yet, so it was safe to assume that they hadn't been followed by any of the walkers. "I'm ... not sure." They continued to slow until they were at a walking pace, their heavy gasps echoing in the air, the sounds of crunching leaves and grass the only other noise until Casey spoke again. "It didn't seem ... like they were followin' us ... to begin with ... it was just ... precautionary ..."

"I'm taking that ... as a yes ..." Ryan continued to pull in breaths in ragged bursts until he could finally speak again. He twisted his head around, his dark brown eyes scanning the tree tops. "What do you figure we should do now?"

She sighed as they continued to trudge forward. "We've got two options at best."

"I'm listening."

"We could keep goin' and hopefully get farther on, but that would probably only tire us out more and cause later problems. Or we can see what we can dig up 'round here. See if maybe I can catch somethin' and get a good camp goin' before the heat of the day. We can hang out here until we wanna get goin', but we'd be sittin' ducks for walkers and people."

"I like option two," Ryan replied.

"Well, let's get goin' then. Could take me a couple of hours to get a catch dragging you along with me," Casey answered, glad he had only taken a few seconds to make the decision for her.

Casey still heard the groan that Ryan tried to suppress, and a smile pulled at her lips.

* * *

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Ryan asked her, his dark eyes fixated on what she was doing.

"Do what?"

"Y'know ... hunt, make fires like that ... Where'd you learn to do all of it?"

Casey continued to turn the homemade spit she had made, crouched down and focused on the rabbit she was attempting to cook. The wind wasn't cooperating however; it continued to push and twist at the orange flames of her low-set fire, pulling them to the side. It was causing her beloved rabbit to becoming unevenly cooked, one side blistered and was practically half-burnt, while the other side was barely even roasting. She had spent so long trying to actually catch the damned jack rabbit-hunting with only a knife and a handgun was completely different from hunting with a bow and arrow-that she couldn't bare to see it go to waste like that. That, and Ryan had actually spent quite a bit of time gathering enough rocks to create a half-decent circle, and had went through the pain-stacking process of finding three even sticks to use to create the spit. She kinda appreciated not having to do all the work, and she wanted to try to repay him with a pretty good tasting rabbit.

She sighed, turning the spit once again. There would be wins and losses, she supposed, finally giving up on the distant dream of a well cooked meal. Casey twisted her head so she could give him a half-normal response. She figured he deserved it after being hit pretty badly with a branch in the face a couple of hours before-she could still see the bloodied line that stretched across his cheek. "Uh ... Daryl taught me most of what I know, but Merle taught 'im. So I guess you could say they both helped."

"Your brothers?" Ryan questioned.

"Yeah. Daryl and Merle."

Ryan sat back on his hands, so he could glance up at the tree tops once more. Their packs had been discarded at the base of the closest tree, well both Casey and Ryan were lounging in the shade, both of them on one side of the orange-red flames of the fire. "You're pretty close with your brothers, aren't you?"

"Yeah. More so Daryl then Merle, but that's 'cause Merle was always in an' out of jail when I was a kid so ..."

Ryan choked on what seemed to be nothing. "Wha-what?"

Casey glanced at him with a confused look. She leaned back, away from the flames that had warmed her face. She brushed her brown hair out of her eyes before she asked, "What? What's what?"

"Your brother was in and out of jail? For what?" Ryan gasped.

She sighed once more. She had known she was going to regret saying that. Hell, she practically regretted telling him anything about her family and herself. It always got the same reaction from him; shock and more questions. But, she figured, there was no sense in lying. She might as well just bare the truth, as ugly as it was, even though it made her uncomfortable and edgy. It seemed to make him trust her more, and that truth was going to be needed through the world "end of the world" that was going on. "Ain't nothin' too bad ... Drug traffickin' mostly, but a couple counts of violatin' parole too."

"Not that bad," Ryan breathed, shaking his head. He obviously didn't believe that her brother's past incarcerations weren't "that bad."

"Hey, he ain't no murderer, alright? So just piss off about 'im," Casey grumbled, pulling her knees close to her chest so she could lay her chin on the top of them. "'Sides, what does that matter anymore anyways? Everybody's done somethin' bad since this all started."

"Sorry," Ryan murmured. "You're right. I shouldn't have ..." He trailed off, obviously unsure of what he should say to her next. An apology probably wouldn't have cut it. A moment after, his eyes lit up again, a smile breaking across his face. "Tell me about them. And about you."

"Why?" Casey asked dumbly.

"Something to do. And I hate it when you get all quiet on me, and sit there staring at nothing. You don't talk enough. Freaks me out. It's like you're planning my demise or some shit."

Casey snorted the last comment off as she shifted forward again to rescue the stick that had roasted along with the rabbit. She pulled it out of the notches in the two other sticks and knocked them off to the side, twisting and turning the skewered rabbit to get a good look. As she had feared, one side of it was practically burnt beyond recognition ... however, the other side was a perfectly cooked golden brown. Ryan saw that their fire-roasted dinner was finished and shifted so that they could sit directly beside each other, shoulders bumping as Casey held the stick full of rabbit meat out to him first. "You go first then," she finally answered. "You tell me 'bout your family and I'll tell you 'bout mine. And careful; it's gonna be fucking hot."

Ryan tried to pick off a piece of meat, but struggled when it touched his fingers. "Damn, that is hot ... Okay. Where do you want me to start?" he asked. He was pleased that she was finally letting him into her little world; his eyes glittered with happiness, and he could barely suppress the giant grin that was threatening to spill on his face.

"Don't care," she responded, forcing herself through the burning sensation of pulling off a strip of meat with only a wince. She blew on it a couple times before she chucked it into her mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing before she had even tasted it.

"'Kay ... Well y'know that my family's originally from Michigan, but did I tell you that my parents came here from Korea?"

Casey looked at him with a dumbfounded gaze. "I thought you were Chinese," she said around another mouthful of rabbit.

He snorted. "Funny, Dixon. Real funny. Well, anyways, my parents came from Korea way back when. They settled in Michigan, where my dad became a sales representitive and my mom stayed a housewife. They had five kids; me, then Glenn, then our younger sister Molly, and finally the twins, Anna and Leah. My dad ... he ended up dying of a heart attack right after the twins turned six." His voice started getting softer, his eyes growing vacant. "Molly ... she was up in New York, with some sort of modeling contract ... The twins, they're just kids ... I just ... I hope they made it out safe with Mom ..." He shook his head, cleared his throat and continued. "Honestly my life was pretty damn boring before I turned eighteen-that was when I moved to Tampa for schooling-they've got a kick ass university there and my parents had been saving up enough money for me to get into the accounting program there."

"Are you kidding me? An _accountant_? _You?_" Casey blurted out incredulously.

"Are you going to judge everything about me? Or can I finish?" Ryan asked with a playful sideways look.

Casey plucked off another piece of meat and shoved it into her mouth. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Go on."

"I lived in Tampa for a while, 'til I was twenty-four. Then I moved to Jacksonville; I got an apprenticeship at an accounting company down there and I worked as an office clerk; y'know, when you go into an accounting office and there's the front desk? I worked behind that desk for the longest time. Ah, who am I kidding? I was still working behind that desk when this apocalypse all started." He paused for a moment to actually pluck off a piece of meat and chew at it. "Y'know, never had rabbit before today. It's actually kinda good." He swallowed and then continued. "The only reason I'm out here and not back in Florida is my brother, Glenn. We hadn't seen each other in a couple of months, and before I moved away for school we were super close. I wanted to check in on him. So we agreed I'd drive to Atlanta and meet him after his midnight shift at the pizza delivery place he worked at. But as you can see ... I never made it to Atlanta. The interstates started getting jammed and it was practically hell to try to get anywhere on them, so I took an old route through Macon instead ... and my piece of shit car broke down on me in that town we were just stuck in. I holed myself up in that house for four days and watched the streets. Then I found you. There you have it. The life and days of Ryan Rhee," he finished.

Casey bobbed her head in understanding and comprehension. She had actually been listening for the entire thing, and had found herself mildly interested in what he was going to say next. It was ... nice to hear about things that reminded her of what the world used to be. It was refreshing, knowing where he had once come from and how he had stumbled upon the state of Georgia before the dead started eating the living.

"Your turn," Ryan announced, obviously more excited than he probably should have been. He took the stick from her and glanced at what was left of the rabbit. He started tearing off shreds of meat and eating it as he waited excitedly.

"Well ... where do you want me to start? Just what I was doin' before or-"

"All of it," he responded. "Start to finish."

Casey grumbled under her breath something about him being an impatient asshole before she took a deep breath. She couldn't believe she was doing this. Why was she telling him, of all people, her life? He didn't deserve to know what had happened to her and what hadn't, and she sure as hell didn't know him well enough for it either. But, in the same breath, she knew she was stuck with him for good. They were most likely going to be survival buddies for the majority of the time, and truth be told, he wasn't as annoying as he first seemed. He was growing on her ... like a mold or a fungus. "I should probably explain somethin's first. First off, there's an age gap. An' I mean a huge age gap between me and Merle and Daryl. Shit, Merle's gotta be ... forty-four now? Daryl's ... thirty-three-no, thirty-four. I'm twenty-five. There's nineteen years between me and Merle, and nine between me an' Daryl."

"How in the-"

"My brothers ... aren't actually my full blood brothers. We're only half."

"Half ... you're only half-siblings?"

She nodded. "My father screwed 'round with my mom when he was on some road trip up in Indiana. They kept in long distance contact for a while, but he broke off and left her cut an' dry when she found out she was pregnant with me."

"But then how-" Ryan started.

"I'm gettin' there. Hold your horses, alright?"

With a quick downward jerk of his head, Ryan fell silent once more. Casey continued as if the out-burst hadn't happened. "My mom had me an' kept me up north in Indiana. I went to school, and did everythin' a normal kid's supposed to do. Didn't think nothin' of my father ... Mom just told me that he left before I was born and I never thought twice about it ... Now that I think about it, it was probably for the best. My mom didn't want nothin' bad to happen to me. My mom ... she was a real good person. Didn't smoke, didn't drink, none of that. Probably one of the nicest women on the planet too, or so everyone always told me. I don't remember her much. She died when I was little. I was four, I think. Car accident. Drunk driver."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ryan murmured. He leaned closer to her, brushing his shoulder to hers in an almost sympathetic way.

The words continued to spill out and Casey just let them. "My mom didn't have any family members except for a sister who had like four kids of her own and her mom left. My aunt didn't have the funds to take me, and my grandmother wasn't really all there. She 'ad dementia and it probably would've been hell to make me live there. They originally wanted put me in foster care or some shit, but my aunt wouldn't let 'em. So the courts did what they always do ... they uncovered my birth father through some sort of letter my mom had written to 'im once and a DNA test they forced 'im to do. Three months after my mom's death I was ridin' down to Georgia with some guy I was supposed to call 'Daddy.'"

Casey took a deep breath before she continued. Ryan had tossed what was left of the rabbit carcass on to the fire, stick included, and they just continued to sit there, staring forward, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. The sun was lower-set in the sky, shadows reaching and twisting out in the shapes of the branches from the the tree canopy that was still providing shade from the late day sun. "I suppose it wasn't all bad. My father was a drinker and never really parented us, so we all kinda just fended for ourselves. Sure, for the longest time I only caught glances of Merle when he was in and out of prison, but didn't treat me all bad. Used to call me 'ankle-biter' all the time, the sonuvabitch. I was attached to Daryl ninety percent of the time, though. I worshiped the ground he walked on 'cause he was the only one who used to pay attention to me. Daryl raised me. Taught me how to ride a bike, how to hunt and fish and take care of myself. He protected me from a lot of things." Casey's hand went instinctively to the scar that was along the inner edge of her eyebrow. The only thing left from the beatings she used to receive, many of those directed to Daryl when he would shield her. Although she didn't say those words, Casey knew Ryan had gotten the gist of it when his shoulders flinched upward. "He took care of me 'til I could take care of myself."

"Casey ..." Ryan whispered.

"And there you have it. You know the rest," Casey grumbled, old emotions rumbling in her chest as she finished. She sourly looked at the fire first, whose flames were finally starting to die down. Her blue eyes crinkled at the corners when she finally glared up at him. "So don't you go complainin' that I don't talk enough anymore."

The rest of their night in the woods was spent in silence.


	5. Chapter Five: Shot

_**Here's the fifth chapter! I hope you all enjoy it! :) I want to quickly apologize for the tardiness of this update; I came down with a horrid stomach flu and it's taken me days to shake it off.**_

_**Thank you to everyone who has dropped by and followed, left a favorite or left a review for this story! I really enjoy diving into the world of The Walking Dead, so I hope you're all loving this story as much as I am! Please, feel free to leave a review on what you think or feel about it; I really appreciate it! :) **_

_**Also, I'm trying to keep this story nicely paced so that it won't take too much longer for the characters to meet the main cast, but in the same breath, I still want to take everything nice and slow ... so I apologize if anything is too slow or too fast! :)**_

_**Thank you all in advance for reading!**_

_**-D**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not, nor have, nor ever will own anything related to the label of The Walking Dead.**_

* * *

_**Chapter Five: Shot**_

Weeks had past since their first night in the woods. If Casey had been keeping track correctly, it had been almost two months since the chaotic virus had began to create destruction. The days were turning shorter, the nights becoming somewhat colder as late summer had began to turn into early fall. But no matter how she looked at it, time had felt like it was standing practically still; those two months of hardship and horror had felt like three days.

Surviving in the apocalypse wasn't something Casey had been preparing for, nor did she believe anything she had previously learned would actually help her in the situation. But now? She sure thanked Daryl for those days when he dragged her out of bed at three in the morning to go hunting. With all of the skills she had been taught and had picked up from watching him, she was able to keep both her and her partner alive. She caught the small animals they ate and was able to differentiate between types of berries that they were able to pick from low lying shrubs. She was able to make fires that would both cook their food and keep them warm at nights, and had been managing to keep them both safe with the cunning use of her hunting knife.

But Casey wasn't completely alone in making sure that they were both fed and safe. Surprisingly, much to Casey's disbelief, Ryan had been stepping up to the plate quite frequently. His aim with his gun was getting startlingly better-Casey could even say that it was almost spot on-and he willingly helped her when it came to scavenging for food and supplies in small towns or farms that they happened to stumble across. He willing led into buildings and around corners, ready to take the brunt of the blow if anything were to appear out of the blue-once, she had made the mistake of pushing past him, and had actually gotten tackled to the ground by a walker who had been lurking near by. Just when she had thought it was the end, a wooden spear was splattering through the side of its head. It had taken her a couple seconds to actually realize that she had just witnessed him take down a walker with just a stick. Ryan Rhee, the over-excited puppy-dog of a human being, was actually turning out to be someone she could count on, someone who she'd actually be able to stay with for the rest of the tormented apocalypse days.

No, not just for the rest of the apocalypse. If the nightmarish zombie infestation ever ended, she doubted that she would be able to just drop all contact with him. Even though it had only been such a short amount of time, Casey found herself getting attached. She fought against it, tried to ignore it, tried to ignore _him_. But, no matter what she tried to do, she found herself allowing a smile or a small giggle to be thrown his way. She just ... felt bad. A twinge of guilt would flicker in her chest if she did something to make his baby face fall solemn. He had been so sheltered before all this ... now, she felt as if it was her duty to try and retain some of that past innocence. Casey Dixon felt it was her obligation to make everything just a little bit easier, even if that meant having to laugh at his stupid puns. Somehow, her heart had softened just enough to let the guy rip it open, crawl in and make himself cozy. _Her_, a rough and down-in-the-dirt girl with a twisted past? Friends with _him?_ An optimistic and caring old-soul? Before the world had crumpled around them, Casey would've laughed at whichever sorry sucker that would have suggested that she would be close with him. And, surely, he probably thought something of the same about her; she wasn't at all the type that he probably would have hung out with in the past. But now ... it was different. She now often waited for the humor-filled cracks he managed to get in when they were traveling, she waited for him if he fell even a step behind. But Casey noticed things he did too; he would always glance over to make sure she was still there, would flash smiles at her, and would often hold her hand for a little too long when he helped her up or over things. The most often used mannerism was a brushing of her shoulder with his, and her response of his shoulder against hers; it had become their universal "Are you still holding up okay?" "Yeah, doing fine."

Casey didn't think of him as just an idiot or "that Asian moron" anymore. He was Ryan, her partner ... her friend. Her very good friend.

Even if he still pissed her off on an almost daily basis.

"Case," Ryan murmured.

His sudden statement shocked her back into reality. How long had she been dozing off? Just because they had found a seemingly abandoned town with only a few walkers didn't mean she had the right to tell herself go off on such a mental tangent. She physically had to shake her head and blink to get her mind out of the clouds. It had been a long time since she had become unfocused like that; she was letting herself become too vulnerable. It was a good thing they had just finished barricading the single front door of a teeny, locally ran department store, or it could have been almost certain she would have been killed. "Sorry," she replied back. As she did, she glanced around, taking in the looks of the store once more. "Just yell at me next time."

"And attract some unwanted walkers? No thanks, I'll let you day dream." Ryan waved it off with a dismissed shrug of his shoulders. "Gonna help me gather or what?"

"On it," Casey answered.

"What're we low on?"

Casey gave him a sideways, dumbfounded look that could have killed birds in midair.

"Right. Stupid question. We're low on everything."

She allowed a not-so-rare smile. Ryan gave her his goofiest grin in return before he took a couple long strides away, his inky hair bobbing up and down as he searched the shelves ... or what was left of them anyways. The store was extremely small, only five small rows of industrial sized shelving since one row had been completely knocked over on its side. Those shelves that were left upright had probably once held items such as food and house hold necessities. Most items were gone, having been picked over weeks before, most likely. Stragglers remained however, and Casey managed to pick up a couple cans out of the litter and fragments of wrappers that were strewn all over.

Casey went through the first two aisles swiftly and carefully, trying to find anything more than the two cans she had came across at the start of the aisle closest to the door. Up and down, her blue eyes scanned, looking for anything that could have been of use. Most of it was garbage, remains of moldy food or items that would have went first, but she managed to find a couple things that could possibly help them: an old white tee shirt with a couple dirt stains on it-could be helpful in the coming winter-a half pack of AA batteries, and unopened bottle of Advil which she quickly pocketed in the back pocket of her jeans.

As she moved to enter the third aisle, she could hear a scratching, almost shaky noise. Thinking her mind had played a trick on her, she froze, listening carefully now. Her eyes caught at the back of the store, in the middle of the white painted wall, where she quickly determined the noise to be coming from. A thick-looking grey door was located there, and as she squinted at the door, she could see the door knob, a pewter color. The noise got louder in the still air as the knob began jiggling up and down.

She ducked into the third aisle, crouching right beside the shelving there, hand laying on the sturdy metal. She was just barely peering out from around the corner, but she could still see the door and its moving knob. Casey didn't dare to speak, for it would completely give them away. She could only hope that Ryan was smart enough to hear it too; even so, she kept her free hand against her hunting knife which hung from her side belt loop. If it was a walker, it would most likely jiggle the door knob some more before wandering off to try and find something to eat ... Casey was more worried about if it _wasn't_ a walker. Dread hung deep in her chest like a weight. They hadn't ran into any actual people yet, and Casey was completely unsure of how both she and Ryan would deal if it happened to be another human being.

The dread only got heavier as the door managed to split away from the door frame and swing wide. _Please be a walker ... Please_, Casey practically pleaded in her head. Her hand gripped the hilt of her knife.

Her prayers hadn't been answered. As the door continued to swing open, a pair of chunky black boots clomped out into her sight. She glanced the intruder up and down, and cussed mentally in her head. A guy, probably near his forties, shaggy beard and all. Holding what looked to be some sort of hand gun cocked out in front of him. His glare told her something was off, but his wheeling eyes never stayed in one place for too long. His eyes were scanning, but he didn't look down to the ground, completely missing her.

But not missing everything.

"Hands up, fucker!" The new comer shouted, pointing his gun off in a direction a little to his right, still in front of him. "Come 'round this way!"

Fuck! Ryan! Casey forced herself to stay hidden, her teeth locked on her lower lip.

Ryan must have listened to the man because she could hear the shuffling of his feet before silence once more. It was only a couple of seconds before the man spoke once again. "Just you?" the man growled, his voice gruff.

There was a few seconds of silence before, "Yes. Just me."

_No! _Casey felt like she couldn't breathe. He was trying to be smart, trying to protect her. But Casey knew that was the dumbest move he could have made.

"Any weapons?" The man continued with the bombardment of questions.

"None out," Ryan's shaky voice responded. "All in my bag."

"... What else you got in there?" The man questioned, a small twitch of his lip causing it to curl.

Casey was gripping her knife so hard she swore she could feel blood seep through her skin. Her breathing was low and slow, trying to calm herself. Her eyes completely trained on the bastard who was holding Ryan at gunpoint. Her mind was racing with panic and fear, her mouth dry with anxiety, but she forced herself to dip deeper into the crouch ... the hunter within her mind was taking over. She needed to be ready at a moments notice.

"Nothing of importance," Ryan answered. Casey wanted to slap him. Now was not the time to play macho man!

"Now you listen here, boy," the man started, and from the dark light that flared in his eyes, she could tell he was starting to get angry. "I'll cut ya a deal. Ya give me whatever you've got in that bag, including the weapons, and I'll let ya leave free. I'll even hold the door for ya. My treat."

Give him _everything_?! That was just asking for suicide! Ryan had all of the water, the gun, and most of the clothing that the two had managed to acquire throughout their time together. Casey was in charge of the food and the knives she had taken from her home ... Ryan had practically everything! Casey wasn't going to allow this to go on; her lip curled upward in anger, the weight of the earlier fear starting to dull, only slightly.

"That's suicide! You've got to be kidding!" Ryan exclaimed, obviously just as sickened by the man's demands.

"Hey, it's just a matter of survival, little man. Biggest pick from the smallest, and as far as I can see, ya ain't in the best situation to be opposing me," the man answered, an underlying tone of anger rumbling deep in his voice. He rose the gun a little higher-probably aiming for Ryan's head now. "So just take off the pack and let's get this over with."

"No." Ryan's answer was startlingly sharp.

Casey knew that was what his answer was going to be, but she could only pray that maybe the guy would have a change of heart, that he would possibly reconsider trying to take-

"Last chance." Never mind. Casey knew what she was going to have to do, as much as it caused bile to lap at her throat. She knew it was their only shot of survival, that it was the only way they were going to make it out of the department store alive. Although her head was a jumble of feelings and words, her body slipped into auto-drive. Her fingers were numb, and she could barely feel herself adjusting her position, her knife now free from the belt loop she usually kept it in. Casey's azure eyes didn't move, didn't blink.

"No." Again, Ryan's answer came out quickly and steadily.

"Suite yourself," the man snarled. He readied himself, aimed.

Casey readied herself to-

Fired. The gunshot was loud and exploded in her ears.

She was too late.

That's when everything turned into a blur. Adrenalin rushed hot and steady through her veins. She pounced, her legs moving before she even had a chance to think about it. Her knife was clutched in her hand, raised. Her mouth opening, shrieking "_Ryan!_" as she barreled into the man, her own body weight taking him down with her as they landed with an audible thudding noise.

Casey had never killed a man before, but somehow knew that was about to change.

The force had knocked the gun out of his hands, and the man frantically tried to push her off of him, loud shouts and curses streaming through the air. She struggled with him, a tangle of arms and legs and hands and her knife. She got a knee to her ribs, and vaguely she thought she felt him try and bite at her shoulder. Casey kept going, heat pulsing through her veins, her face hot with fury. Her mind was blind with white-hot revenge, her vision tinged with an almost visible tint of red. She managed to struggle her way on top of him, to assume a dominate position, one of his arms trapped under her knee. She continued to straddle the guy, his free hand plastered against her face to both try and push her off of him and to obscure her view. She didn't care; fury was guiding her, telling her what exactly she needed to do. She swung her knife downward blindly.

A cry of pain. She had managed to hit him, and she brought her knife up and down once again, and again, and again. Both driven by complete anger and the scorching will to survive. This man was a threat to her, to Ryan. He had to go. Had to be eliminated. The hand that had been grasping at her face, clawing at her eyes, slowly began to fall, dragging down to her chin before it flopped away. Casey couldn't breathe properly, and only gasped every time she brought down the knife, trying desperately to protect herself, to desperately protect Ryan. She didn't stop until something warm splattered against her face. Blood.

Only then did the furious strikes with her knife end. She struggled to catch her breath through the desperate, whooping gasps that echoed through the air. She didn't dare look, she didn't dare attempt to see if the guy was actually dead. Casey knew she would only lose what little food she had left in her stomach. Casey only managed to crawl off of him, hands shaky and clammy. Her body felt aching and sore, and her chest convulsed with each breath she tried to draw in. Everything seemed to fly by, like she was the only one that had been trapped in a slow motion prison. Her body was no longer responding to what she told it to do; her subconscious mind was taking control of everything.

_Ryan. Shot. Gunshot. Ryan. Okay? Need him. Ryan!_

Without even another glance at the body, Casey's body forced itself forward, swiveling sharply to the left so she could glance down the aisle that she knew Ryan had been down.

His body was collapsed on the ground, but that was all she could will herself to see around the pool of blood that he was in the middle of.

"_RYAN!_"


	6. Chapter Six: Wound

_**Hello all! I want to quickly apologize for the huge absence that I took; I was gone camping for a good week, and I actually was out of the country for another two, and I sadly didn't have access to a computer while I was gone! So, I was unable to update while I was on vacation ... But I'm back now! Here I am with the sixth chapter! I hope you all enjoy this chapter now that it's finally here! (Yes, I know I'm a meanie for that last cliff hanger and the huge wait, I know! I just couldn't help myself though ;) )**_

_**Thanks in advance for reading! Remember, please leave a follow, a favorite, or a review to let me know what you think of the story! Everyone has their own opinion, and I would like to hear it, even if you may not agree with some of the things I've written about! :)**_

_**-D**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not, nor have, nor ever will own anything related to the label of The Walking Dead.**_

* * *

**_Chapter Six: Wound_**

Casey clambered over to him, hands shaking uncontrollably. Her body was numb, and she couldn't feel her limbs even as they continued to move in jerky motions. Somewhere in the numbed jumble that was her mind, she could faintly remember to apply pressure to bleeding wounds. To try to stop the bleeding as soon as possible. Air caught in her lungs, stopped her from breathing. Her eyes were wide and frantic as she tried to survey the situation. Crimson was everywhere; leaked onto the floor, pooling under her companion's torso, spreading and growing into a large oval on the stomach of his shirt. Her knife clattered out of her hand as she brought both hands to press at the oval of blood that had ebbed into his tee. It was wet and sticky, but she forced herself to swallow down the bile and put pressure onto his stomach. That got a rise out of him, as he hissed out in pain and his chest heaved with a staggered breath.

"Ry-god, please just hold on!" Casey's rasped, her throat closing with fear as Ryan coughed and tried to twist and lift himself up. "Don't move, don't move! I-I don't know where it hit-I don't know what I'm doin'-Don't make it worse!"

Ryan's body jerked with agony as he flopped back again, his chest continuing to heave and his breaths sputtered. "Case-I-can't! It fucking-_hurts!_"

"I know it does! I'm tryin' to help! You'll bleed out if I don't do this!" Casey shrieked, her voice rising and peaking in pitch. "Please, just don't move! I'll-I'll-"

The shirt. The old shirt that she had picked up. It would make as a perfect cloth to tie around his torso to keep the blood from seeping out. But it was at the end of the next aisle; it was back with her bag that she had abandoned when she had went flying for the assailant. She looked at him, her blood soaked hands, and his pain-contorted face, and took one deep breath. Casey had to leave his side. She had to do this to help him. Casey needed to gather herself and _help him_. She then staggered to her feet, her body moving in huge, stuttering motions as she stumbled, adrenaline driven, over to where she had left her cargo bag. She flung it over her shoulder and grasped the white, dirty tee with her other hand. Within moments, she was back at Ryan's side, balancing on her knees as she attempted to save him.

"C'mon, Ryan, you gotta stay with me. You have to stay with me, okay?" The words that spewed out of her mouth were more for her own comfort than his. But she continued to repeat those same two sentences over and over again as she poked and prodded him, earning her a good earful of swears and cusses. She managed, after a few gentle presses with her palms, to locate where his wound was-the bullet had hit the extreme right side of his stomach, closer to his hip than anything else. Casey was immediately concerned with what organs the bullet could have shred through and destroyed on its warpath, but didn't have time to dwell on that fact for long. Somehow, she managed to rip off Ryan's backpack without causing him too much pain-although, he did scream out something about someone's mother being a whore, much to Casey's surprise. Then, she attempted, as quickly but as efficiently as she could in her feverish and worried state, to wind the tee shirt around Ryan's torso, tying it at tightly as she could across the wound on his stomach.

"Case-" Ryan gasped out. "It-_hurts _so bad!"

"I know, Ryan, I know," Casey responded, her hands beginning to shake once again. Her mind still remained in a frazzled mess, emotions and thoughts jumbling together as the words spilled out. She had a hard time keeping her voice down enough so that she wouldn't spike his anxiety too. She had to try and stay calm ... He hadn't died yet, so Casey knew that there was a chance they could make it out of this still a group of two ... Casey shook her head as the horrid thoughts of death flickered across her mind. She wasn't going to let him die. Casey wouldn't let it happen, even if she had to stay by his side for weeks on end. Ryan Rhee wasn't allowed to die! "We-we have to get you outta here. Gotta get you some place safe ..."

"I can't move! I'll j-just slow you down!" Ryan stuttered, wincing and gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?!"

"You're gonna hafta leave me-"

"_Don't you dare talk like that!_" Casey had to will herself with all of her strength not to slap him, even in his injured state. Casey Dixon had never left anyone behind, and she wasn't about to start now. She wasn't sure if it was the gravity of the situation, or maybe if she was just being the stubborn mule that she normally was, but Casey knew that she wasn't going leave the bloodied department store without him. Even if she had to drag his half-dead body behind her. "Now just-just-shut up and lemme, just, help you!"

And with that, Casey clenched her jaw tightly and sent herself to work. His idiotic yet selfless words had slapped all the shaky hysteria out of her veins. She found it was easier to focus, easier to set her mind straight and concentrate at the task at hand. Her hands were no longer flinching, and she found she could move her fingers properly. Although her mind was still numbed with what had happened and she had issues trying to push all of her emotions out of her thoughts, she was able to move and shift herself as though she was almost normal. She took the new-found feeling and basically ran with it; she placed a hand on Ryan's chest for only a moment before she began.

Barricading the store was the first thing on her list. If that wasn't done, another crazed mad-man would be able to break in and hurt Ryan even more in his vulnerable state. That and walkers were also still a threat that Casey was going to have to deal with, especially since the gunshot had probably attracted them for a good mile radius. So, Casey did what she could on her own without straying too far from her fallen partner. Although they had previously barricaded the door with a couple of cedar wooden crates, she felt like that wasn't going to be enough anymore. She managed to scrape a half-broken backing from one of the heavy industrial shelves that had been tipped over to the front door, leaving the solid metal piece at the bottom of the door frame, against the bottom crate of the stacked pile. That would make it too difficult for anyone who tried to get in from the front to be able to push their way through. All of the windows, which were located at the front of the store, were still intact, so as long as they stayed were they were, at the back of the store, they wouldn't be seen. The grey door that the gunman had come through was still wide open, and Casey didn't hesitate to close and lock the inner dead bolt that was located just above the door handle. As she continued on, she made sure that every minute-she counted-she got some sort of noise out of Ryan so that she knew he was still breathing.

Second, the body. Casey hadn't thought of it since the shocking moment she had climbed off of him, and now, as she stared at the corpse, she wished she hadn't even looked. Blood was spattered along the man's neck and face, coating his shaggy beard, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head, showing only the creamy whites. His jaw slack, his hands still clawed, tense and stiff from the times he had tried to strike her off of him. And, as Casey stared harder, from where the ruby blood was pooling on the dusty tiled floor, Casey could tell she had stabbed him numerous times in the neck and face. The stab wounds were serrated and deep, obviously inflicting great damage to the flesh and muscles. Bile lapped at the top of her throat, and this time, it was harder to swallow it down. This wasn't a zombie. It wasn't a walker, nor was it a small animal. Casey had _killed _a _living human being_. She knew it was justified-the fucker had shot Ryan, he deserved it-and she knew there was no police force left to track her down and arrest her for murder. It was more just the plain fact that she had actually killed a _person. _He could have been an ally that would have been able to-

_No, _Casey told herself. _He was going to kill Ryan. That's all there is to it. And he's dead now; there's nothing more I can do._

At least, she managed to convince herself, he would become helpful in their struggle for survival. The gunman had been carrying a large, black hiking back pack, and by the way that his body was laying, half-draped, on top of it meant it must have been packed with food and other items. Casey forced herself to grow a proverbial pair of balls and go for it. She struggled for a few moments, trying to shove the man's body off of his pack, his body heavy with dead weight. When she did finally manage to separate the gunman from his belongings, she made sure to drag the man into a secluded corner of the store so she wouldn't have to deal with him. It would be to dangerous to try and dispose of his body, and Casey knew that. She wouldn't have to worry about disposing of the body for awhile ... At least until he started rotting. Then it would become a problem.

Before she returned to Ryan, Casey had one last thing to deal with. Casey took one, two, three glances at the floor ... and picked up the gunman's hand gun. She shoved it in the waist of her jeans and scampered her way to Ryan.

The zippers of the hiking pack only took a few moments to jerk open once she got back to her perch beside her partner. She dumped out all the contents of the bag close to Ryan's face, so he could see what they had managed to score without lifting his body or head off of the ground. It was hard to contain her excitement; there was so much! If there was a god left in the post-apocalyptic world that Casey called home, he had finally answered her silent pleas. Casey felt like she was practically on cloud nine. For at least a moment, Casey forgot how horrible everything was. At least eight cans of food, three bottles of water, two bottles of Advil, a bottle of what looked to be antibiotics, countless containers of ammo for the hand gun, and three large sweaters.

"Ryan, we got so luck-" Casey started.

But then Ryan coughed and she was forced back to earth. She twisted back to him and saw the white tee had become red with blood, and that Ryan's complexion had fallen paler since the last time she had studied him. One hand was grasping at the thigh of his jeans, fingers turning into contorted claws with the agony. His other hand was stretched freely at his side, scratching at the ground. His inky-colored eyes were wide, wheeling and scared, rivaling the look of a horrified baby deer, and his mouth was open, continuously pulling in startled, short breaths.

Casey had never been good with first aid-hell, most of the time it was Daryl stitching her up-but she knew she had to try. She pulled all of the bags to her side of the aisle that Ryan had been shot down in, and she half-frantically decided that it was going to be their home for the time being. Casey scrambled through their belongings and found what she needed; another tee, this time hers, that she folded up into a giant square and pressed it to the tied-off injury. Ryan winced and groaned against the pain that the pressure brought him, but Casey was relieved to see that this time, the blood didn't seep as fast into the fabric of the shirt. After a few more moments of that, she searched for one of the water bottles she had acquired and the bottle of pills that Casey was pretty sure was an antibiotic. She also produced the bottle of Advil that she had stashed in her back pocket, which somehow, was still there. She popped the cap off the Advil bottle and broke the inner foil seal, shaking two pills into her awaiting hand. Casey then opened the blue pill bottle, unscrewing the child-proof lid and popped only one of the bright red and yellow pills into her hand with the Advils.

"Wh-what is it?" he asked, his voice high with worry and shaky with exhaustion. He winced with pain before continuing, "Don't be throwing just any old thing into me."

"It's anox-no, amoxicillin. I think it's just an antibiotic," Casey responded quickly. She began unscrewing the cruddy plastic lid off of the water bottle. "You'll be fine. Can't hurt you anymore than you are now."

He didn't bother to try and put up a fight. She bent to meet him, his head barely lifting off the ground. Casey transferred the water bottle to the floor so that she was able to help bring Ryan's head up farther, her hand weaved into his black hair. She helped tip the pills into the back of his mouth, and guided the water bottle to his lips so he would be able to drink. He swallowed, and coughed for a moment before his breathing slowed, his neck relaxing. Casey slowly guided his head back toward the floor, her free hand grasping the fabric of a bag. She then placed his weary head onto the empty hiking bag, creating a bit of a makeshift pillow for him. Although his body had relaxed, his eyes were still wheeling with pain and terror.

Their gazes locked. Azure with a woodsy brown. Looking at her petrified comrade, his eyes turned up at the ends in agony, his hands madly grasping for anything to help ease the pain ... The mere sight of it made heat prick behind her eyes. Her emotions were shot for the day, and Casey couldn't help but feel like she needed to shield him from this ... to help ease the pain. Ryan didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to feel scared and in pain and like he was going to die ... And Casey knew there was no way she could take those feelings and shoulder them herself. Casey knew there was no way she could shield her innocent companion from this. All she could do was just ... be there. She forced herself to push past the prickling in the corner of her eyes as she clasped his free hand, his nails digging deep into the palm of her bloody hand as she did. Casey made sure that their eyes met once again as she squeezed his hand and said, "Don't be scared. 'Sides, I promised, right? I'm not goin' to leave you. I'm not gonna let you die. I'm right here, okay?"

It took a moment, but when Ryan nodded, a jerky, painful nod, Casey couldn't stop herself. She found she had leaned forward to press her chapped lips to the meat of his trembling cheek before she knew it. Then, she pressed her face into his cringing shoulder so he wouldn't be able to see the salty tears that threatened to fall.


End file.
